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Jacobs: Ortiz, Durant remind us that we’re all playing Game 7

FILE - In this Oct. 1, 2016, file photo, fans at walk past a photograph of Boston Red Sox's David Ortiz before a baseball game against the Toronto Blue Jays at Fenway Park in Boston. Ortiz was back in Boston for medical care after authorities said the former Red Sox slugger affectionately known as Big Papi was ambushed by a gunman at a bar in his native Dominican Republic.
A plane carrying the 43-year-old retired athlete landed Monday night, June 10, 2019, after a flight from the Dominican Republic, the team said.

Photo: Michael Dwyer, AP

There will be a Game 7 on Wednesday night, and before the puck is dropped for hockey’s Stanley Cup between the Bruins and Blues at TD Garden we will be reminded many times over that there is nothing in sports like a Game 7.

One terrific play here or terrible mistake there and, after so many minutes in a series of games, an athlete instantly stands to be the GOAT or the goat for a generation. There is something at once romantic and foreboding in the sweeping notion that the winner takes all and the loser wins all the heartache.

And it is here that I point out we are all playing Game 7 every moment of every day.

It is here that I point out it was Gandhi who once said, “Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever.”

These words are not meant as some sort of great revelation nor some far-reaching metaphor. They are simply a reminder. Life is fragile. Even for the most beloved athlete. Even for arguably the best one.

David Ortiz has taught us this.

Kevin Durant has taught us this.

And if we fail to see it and honor it amid the endless CNN arguments over gun control, ESPN arguments over impending NBA free agency or even the drone of daily life, maybe we do need that reminder. A life, an athletic career, our lives, our careers, can end in a heartbeat. We’re all Game 7. Every moment of every day.

There was something remarkably shocking and sad about the attempt on Ortiz’s life on Sunday night in Santo Domingo. Big Papi is beloved and revered in New England and maybe only half as beloved and revered as he is in the Dominican Republic. He is a national hero on that island nation, an idol to kids and other ballplayers alike.

Ortiz has written in his autobiography and spoken on occasion about the violence of his homeland, of some of that terror he witnessed growing up. It has led some Dominican major leaguers to severely limit visits home. Yet here was Papi sitting at an outdoor club, amid his people, when a motorcycle approached and Ortiz was ambushed, shot in the back at nearly point-blank range.

Why? We don’t know yet. We do know that only through God’s grace was Ortiz not killed. He lives by inches. There was damage to his intestines and his liver. His gallbladder was removed. After a six-hour surgery in the Dominican, he was flown to Boston by the Red Sox and underwent more surgery at Mass General on Monday night. He has remained in intensive care, but he is expected to make a full recovery.

Even three days later, the attempt on Ortiz’s life remains stunning and demoralizing. No one in sports has brought more joy into our collective lives. Even if you’re a Yankees fan, you recognize and feel this. Papi enters a room. The room lights up. The camera finds him. He smiles. We all smile. When Papi is around, you don’t need a reminder to laugh.

What kind of evil would want to put a bullet in his back?

What kind of evil would want to kill joy?

The World Series championships of 2004, 2007 and 2013? The 500 home runs? All those magical October moments? Even a life as large and gregarious as Papi’s can be gone in the flash of a gun barrel.

Yes, we are all Game 7.

Even in athletics, you never know when and where it will end. Think about it. What are the two most devastating series-defining narratives in sports history? Bill Buckner and Steve Bartman, right? They came in Game 6.

As Kevin Durant sat for a month following the lower calf injury he suffered in a playoff game in early May, so much speculation, so many proclamations ensued. He’s going to the Knicks as a free agent this summer. No, his skin is too thin for New York. He’s going here. He’s going there … The Warriors are a better team without him. OK, maybe the ball moved better without K.D. Yet the thought that Golden State is a better team without him, as Klay Thompson said, is ludicrous.

Durant returned on Monday night in Game 5 of the NBA Finals to score 11 points in 12 minutes and was in the midst of proving exactly how ludicrous when he went to plant his right foot off the dribble. His leg gave way. He had injured his Achilles tendon, reportedly tore it.

In an unfortunate show of stupidity, many Raptors fans cheered and jeered as Durant went down. To their immense credit, Kyle Lowry, Danny Green and Serge Ibaka signaled to the Toronto fans to quit celebrating. They did. It turned into a respectful chant of “K.D.” at Scotiabank Arena. I want to believe those fans suddenly remembered that it wasn’t a robot or an action video figure out there, it’s a human being.

After the game, Warriors general manager Bob Myers, fighting tears, said clearing Durant to play in Game 5 was a collaborative decision, yet if there must be blame then let it rest with him.

Who knows how long Durant could be out? A year? When he does return, will his greatness be diminished? How much money could this eventually cost him? How many prospective free-agent suitors’ plans went up in smoke? Before Game 5, some questioned whether Durant was purposely sitting out so he wouldn’t reinjure his leg before free agency. After Game 5, some wondered whether Durant had rushed back too soon because the Warriors were facing elimination. And many more wonder whether the Warriors can still win two more games to maintain their dynasty.

That’s who we are as sports fans. That’s who we are as sports media. We argue. We debate. We separate the athlete from the human. Advance metrics mean more than flesh and blood.

Until someone puts a bullet in Papi’s back, until K.D. falls in a heap, and then we pause to remember that it can end tomorrow. We are all Game 7.

Jeff Jacobs is a 10-time Connecticut Sports Writer of the Year and four times has been honored by the Associated Press Sports Editors as one of the top 10 columnists in the country. Jeff’s passion for local sports runs the gamut from high school athletics to UConn basketball — he has covered all four UConn men’s championships and 10 of the 11 women’s titles. He’s also covered multiple Olympics, World Series and Super Bowls. Along the way, he has demonstrated a zeal for the big scoop and a finely honed ability to convey essential human tales that resonate far beyond the sports world.